Klink, Klank—KLUNK! by JORDRE
by Jake Crepeau
Summary: A short tale in the ‘Hogan and the General’ AU, of how Klink ended up with…. But you’ll just have to read this to find out.
1. Chapter 1

Klink, Klank… KLUNK.

This is just a little filler piece; Klink wanted to have his say, it would seem. So this is the tale of how he ended up with…. But you'll just have to read this to find out. Oh, yeah: All previous disclaimers apply; I do not agree, etc, etc. jordre.

Chapter 1 – Moving out, German Style

September 30, 1942

_Luftstalag 13_

He stood alone on the porch of the _Kommandantur_; his greatcoat, whipped by the wind, billowed around his legs. He didn't feel it, didn't feel the wind, or the biting chill. He was too numb to feel anything. Ruined: he was utterly _ruined._ Slowly _Oberst_ Wilhelm Klink turned to fumble at the door leading to the offices. No guard stood there now, having been pulled to other duty. Most likely the men, his guards, were shocked also… or, perhaps not. The guards, common soldiers, didn't question anything their superiors did anymore. Not after years of living under Hitler and the Gestapo. _Those_ hadn't been gone long enough for people to risk allowing their curiosity license yet.

At last the door opened and he made his way inside. No secretary sat at the desk in the outer office: Hilda had gone home for the day. He would have to remember to call her at home, and tell her to stay away. _Luftstalag_ 13 would no longer be a safe place for a pretty _M__ä__dchen_ to work, for it would no longer be under the _Luftwaffe's_ control.

His poor prisoners…

It was all Hogan's fault, as was nearly everything else that went wrong around here. Only _this_ time, Hogan wasn't here to put things right again. Hogan would never be here again, would never barge into his office, or steal his Schnapps, or his cigars… Klink fought back unaccustomed tears at his failure to protect his charges. He fumbled his way into his office, removing his greatcoat and scarf to hang them on the coat-tree beside the office door by habit. By habit also he poured himself a glass of Schnapps and moved to seat himself at his desk.

_The_ envelope sat on his desk, mocking him. All his work, all his hopes and dreams, gone up like smoke. He cradled his head in his hands, silent in his despair.

«_Herr Kommandant_!»

Klink looked up at this cry of distress to see his Sergeant-of-the-Guard, _Oberfeldwebel_ Hans Schultz standing in the office doorway, cradling a small box in his large hands. «What _is _it, Schultz?» He tried to sound fierce and angry at being disturbed, but his heart just wasn't in it today.

«_Herr Kommandant_, the _Abwehr_ Guards are taking all of the Prisoners' Things out of _Barracke_ 2! The Men will be so upset to find all of their Belongings gone, _Herr Kommandant_. What will they do when they get back…»

Klink sighed once more, then looked down at the envelope on his desk again. «Schultz, those Men won't be coming back here anymore. That is why their Things are being removed.» He tried to gentle his voice, for he knew that his sergeant was a kind-hearted soul. Schultz had been especially fond of 'Hogan's Boys', as he had heard them referred to as.

«Bu… Bu… But… _Herr Kommandant_… I don't understand _why_…»

«Schultz, I _know_ that you have turned a Blind Eye to Hogan's Antics these last few Years,» Klink let his voice grow sterner now. «Others, not so open-minded, have learned what they were up to. _Abwehr_ has taken them for questioning. They will not be coming back…. what _is_ that in that Box, Schultz?» Klink's attention was diverted by scratching sounds coming from the box in the big _Oberfeldwebel's_ hands.

Schultz looked down at it as if seeing it for the first time. He looked back up at his _Kommandant_, his eyes suspiciously moist-looking. «It is Felix, _Herr Kommandant_,» he admitted slowly, «Karter's pet Mouse. The Soldiers were going to kill him, but I took him away from them. Karter will be so worried about him…»

«Schultz, Sergeant Carter will have more important Things to worry about than a pet Mouse. Now get rid of that Vermin!"» Klink snapped, pushed nearly to his limit by the day's events.

«_Nein, Herr Kommandant_,» Schultz answered with great dignity and determination, surprising his senior officer. «He is a German Mouse; _I_ will take care of Felix for Karter, for he is a good and loyal Mouse.»

«Oh, whatever,» Klink sighed, seeming to fold in on himself once more. «It doesn't really matter anymore, does it? **Nothing** matters anymore.»

Schultz gaped at his _Oberst_. «Why, _Herr Kommandant_, whatever do you mean?» he asked, totally confused now.

«You heard the Announcement, Schultz: the War is over. We have defeated the _Englisch_ and their Allies.» He paused and looked at the portly man, his head cocked slightly as he considered him before continuing. «_You_ are going to be discharged from the Military, Schultz. Does that please you?»

«Oh, _yes_, _Herr Kommandant_!» Schultz exclaimed, but his puzzled expression only grew more intense. «But _Herr Kommandant_, why does that make nothing matter anymore?»

«Because _I_ am also to be discharged,» Klink tried to explain. «I have the Paperwork right here; a _Major_ Grüber is coming Tomorrow to take Command here.»

«But that is _good_, _Herr Kommandant_,» Schultz began to say, smiling until Klink shook his head.

«It is _not_ good,» Klink corrected, his voice nearly shaking. «_You_ are to get an Honorable Discharge. _I_ will have a huge Blot on my Record, for not knowing what Hogan and his Men were up to. They were _Spies_, Schultz; Saboteurs! That is what _General_ Mannheim said, and he said that they had Proof! I am **ruined**!

«The War is over; they do not need even such a poor Soldier as I any longer. _No One_ will hire me with _that_ on my Record… Oh, why am I bothering to tell you all this?» He fumbled with the envelope for several moments, pulling Schultz's discharge papers out and handing them over. «Here, Schultz: take your Papers and go and pack your Things. There is no Reason for _you_ to have to stay here any longer; _Gefreiter_ Langenscheidt can assume your duties, since we now have no one in Barracke 2. Go back Home to Düsseldorf, or wherever; Have a good Life, love your _Kindern_…»

«I must go back to my _Wife_?» Schultz muttered under his breath, but he came to attention and accepted his papers. He saluted his _Kommandant_ one last time, then turned and left the office to go and pack his belongings. Truthfully, the sooner he left that place, the happier Hans Schultz would be, since here he could only mourn the loss of Colonel Hogan and his men.

Klink watched his former sergeant go, sitting motionless and unfeeling to stare at the back of the closed door once he'd gone. Fear settled in as the numbness faded; that and anger at the _Amerikaner_ who'd played him for such a fool.

He snatched up his glass of Schnapps, meaning to down it, but melancholy settled over him once more as he glanced at the framed photographs on the walls. The glass was set down once more, still untouched, as Klink slowly rose and began to remove the mementoes of his past. He wasn't sure just why he bothered, but he _had_ been told to pack up all of his belongings; that was what he would do. Just like all the other good little German automatons, he would follow his orders to the letter.

It took three trips to empty the office of all his personal effects; he looked at them, piled now on the dining room table in his quarters, and wondered when he had acquired so many things. Slowly he shuffled to his storage room, unearthing his old footlocker to begin the actual packing. He lost himself in the work until the bell rang for evening _Appell_. In shock he looked out the window to see a dark sky, threatening rain this night. The weather suited his mood perfectly, he thought as he went back into his office for his Greatcoat and scarf, to go out and receive his last evening report.

In the end, much would be left behind for lack of space to pack it all in. They were things that Klink realized didn't mean all that much to him anymore. He kept his books, his records; he packed his chess set with the greatest care, remembering all the long hours he'd passed, playing with Hogan. He looked at his packed violin case with a smirking laugh, recalling all the sour notes he'd played just to make the _Amerikaner_ squirm as he tried to pretend that the music hadn't been awful. Klink _could_ play the violin; it had been very difficult to sound so… excruciatingly incompetent. Music had been the one thing that he'd been able to do well… no helpful skill for a Soldier of the Third Reich.

At last all he had left to pack were his clothes, and _those_ were mostly uniforms. It wasn't much to show for such a long career; those, and the embarrassing accolade of being the man who had the longest time-in-grade as an _Oberst_ in the whole _Wehrmacht_. It would greatly surprise him, if no one referred to him as a _Stabsoberst__1_ because of that.

Finally finished, Klink looked around his quarters with a sigh. He would have to leave the furniture; perhaps _Major_ Grüber would be kind enough to ship it to him, once he'd found a place for himself once more. Somehow, though, he doubted _that_ would happen. But it was late, and he was becoming very morose; he would go to bed, and deal with tomorrow when it came.

Klink rose in the morning, still numb. He washed and dressed for the day, then packed his nightclothes away with the rest of his things in the last bag. This he set besides the others by the front door of his quarters, ready to vacate the premises when Grüber got there. He had one last _Appell_ to oversee at _Stalag_13, although it felt _wrong_ without Hogan and his men to cause their usual disturbance. The prisoners left behind were restless and wary, not trusting their jailors even more than usual. The count over at last, the men were dismissed until 0900, when the Official Announcement of the Surrender was to be broadcast.

At 0830, two staff cars drove in through the main gate. The first carried _Major_ Elmar Grüber, _Luftstalag_ 13's new _Kommandant_. The second displayed the fender flags of the Gestapo.

--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--

1 A/N: The rank designations prefixed '_Stabs_-' were rewards for long serving soldiers who could not advance further for one reason or another (such as _Stabsgefreiter_, over 5 years in grade as an _Obergefreiter_, _Stabsfeldwebel_, over 12 years in grade as an _Oberfeldwebel_). I found this little tidbit on the internet; unfortunately I do not remember the site, so I can't properly credit it. There was no actual rank of _Stabsoberst_, the thought just seemed to fit Klink.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – The Iron Eagle Caged

October 29, 1942

Berlin

Wilhelm Klink opened his violin case and carefully lifted out the instrument cradled within. His music and his books had become his only solace these last few weeks. The flat was small: a sitting room and bedroom, with a small attached bathing area. Good quarters for Berlin, and life would have been wonderful… _if_ he had been a free man. Unfortunately, he was not.

Klink controlled his shudders by iron will alone. He had been a 'guest' of the new Gestapo for two long, frightening weeks while they questioned him about Hogan's activities. Surprisingly, they had not been overly rough, although he'd expected them to change their tactics at any time. He could tell them nothing, for he _knew_ nothing. Thank _Gott_ they seemed to believe him. Still, he had had to plumb the depths of his memory for details about every act of sabotage that had occurred anywhere near _Stalag_13. They had not been happy, but his old camp records had clearly shown every attempted and foiled escape ever made by his prisoners. No fault could be found there, no links to any of the area's sabotage proven.

At last they had moved him to these quarters, pending further investigation. Yes, he'd been told he would be discharged, but High Command had reconsidered. They had yet to decide what _type_ of discharge he would be given, or if he would face a Court-Martial for criminal incompetence.

So now, here he sat, a prisoner in a gilded cage. The rooms were comfortable; he had his books, even the proscribed ones that he'd kept so carefully hidden all these years. That had been a surprise, getting _those_ back. He had his records, and a good phonograph to play them on. And he had his violin, and sheet music to play from. There was even some new music included, from composers who'd once been banned because they'd been _Jüdische. _The ban was off, apparently; the only type of music missing was from Russian composers. A pity about that, he thought – some of it had been quite good, and challenging to play.

But Klink did not complain, knowing that he had been very lucky so far. Two good, filling meals were brought to him each day, much better than normal prisoners' fare. The guards on his door were unfailingly polite when they brought the food in, and the daily paper. Klink didn't know what to make of the situation, actually; he would have thought that they'd try to disorient him, keep him uninformed.

No, the only thing he had to possibly complain about was the loneliness, the solitude of his confinement… He played softly as he contemplated his circumstances, missing the sounds of his guards stirring in the hallway outside his rooms. His door opening took him completely by surprise, causing his first sour note in over two weeks. He jumped to his feet to come to attention, still gripping the violin, and bowing as _General _Albert Burkhalter strode into Klink's sitting room.

«At ease, Klink,» Burkhalter wheezed as he settled his bulk down onto a delicate-looking settee. «Put that Thing down before you break it,» he instructed, glaring at the violin that had given forth such tortuous sounds during so many dinner parties at _Stalag_ 13.

«Yes Sir, putting it down, Sir,» Klink parroted back as he carefully set the violin down into its nearby case. He knew better than to offer his visitor any sort of refreshment now… never mind that he had nothing to offer. He went back to patiently standing, waiting to see what the general wanted this time.

«It seems that you may have been telling the Truth after all, Klink,» Burkhalter began to pompously speak, pausing to see if the _Luftwaffe Oberst_ would interrupt him as he used to do. But Klink kept silent, having learned to hold his tongue during his weeks with the Gestapo. Burkhalter frowned, but continued.

«They have discovered an extensive Network of Tunnels running beneath all of Stalag 13. _You_ are lucky they did not cut your Throat during the Night,» Burkhalter smirked before delivering what _he_ considered the coup de grace: «They had Exits all over the Camp, including into _your_ Quarters, Klink.»

«What?!!» Klink gasped, stunned by this revelation.

«Oh, yes,» the general confirmed, scowling now at his former subordinate. «They could have left Anytime they wished, Klink. They had Exits outside the Wire, _inside_ the Wire, into all the Official Buildings, into most of the _Barracken_… One wonders just _who_ ran that Camp: you, or Hogan!»

Slowly Klink sank down onto a nearby chair, barely able to grasp the implications of this information. What _did_ sink in, however, was the fact that he had been made a dupe by his prisoners: men whom he'd believed to be totally cowed by his 'Iron Rule'. He had been a fool, much as that despicable bully Hochstetter had claimed, as _General_ Burkhalter had so frequently said. He almost wished that the general would shoot him right then and there, and blot away his shame. Almost… Slowly Klink took in what the general was saying.

«…will be writing out Confessions, then we will see just who was involved in this… Operation. Until those Documents can be fully Examined, _you_ will be staying in seclusion here. I hope for your sake, Klink, that you were not involved. This would mean more that a Trip to the _Ostfront_, Klink: this would be Treason. Do you understand?»

«Yes, _Herr General_, I understand,» Klink answered, for once not babbling. «I knew nothing of this, _Herr General_. I cannot believe, even, that any of the Guards knew anything of this. They are all loyal Germans, _Herr General_…»"

«Loyal Germans, yes, Klink,» Burkhalter interrupted and rose to his feet. «Just not loyal Nazis. We will see what these Confessions reveal. Good Day, Klink.»

Numb once more, Klink watched his visitor leave, and cursed Hogan in his mind yet again.

--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Klink's Bottom Line

November 19th, 1942

Berlin

To judge by the newspapers, it was as big a sensation as the end of the war itself. The infamous saboteur and spy leader, PAPA BEAR, had been caught and was on trial here in Berlin. Rumors abounded throughout the city, Klink knew. He'd even heard his door-guards talking about it. _He_ didn't want to think about it at all. 'Complete Disclosure of all their Operations', _that_ was what rumor had said Hogan had confessed… No doubt, he, Klink, would look like a totally incompetent, gullible fool. His life was over, even if they _didn't_ shoot him. And Schultz… For a brief moment, Wilhelm Klink let himself worry about someone other than himself… a very _brief_ moment.

The trial had been going on for three days now. The former _Kommandant_ wondered how this could take so long, seeing that they _had_ a Confession. He stopped his pacing, feeling a cold sweat break out as he realized that once Hogan had been dealt with, it would probably be _his_ turn. Klink sank down onto his settee, barely stifling a moan of utter misery. He wished he had his Schnapps, for a good drunken spree was what he needed right then. A hangover the next morning would be worth the pain, just to have oblivion right now.

He didn't even turn his head to see who it was, when his door opened late that afternoon.

«How are you holding up, Klink?» Burkhalter was surprised at how grey the older officer was looking. True, Klink was a spineless coward, but this…

Klink looked at his visitor finally, trying to make the room stop spinning, trying to catch his breath. «I don't feel very well today, _Herr General_,» he managed to gasp, just before he passed out.

«We believe that he had what some call a 'Panic Attack', _General_ Burkhalter,» the _Doktor_ explained in a soft voice. «Klink _is_ an older Man; he is not precisely a _well_ Man, either.»

«He has gotten soft, like too many of us,» Burkhalter agreed with a sigh, thinking about his own ample girth. He gave the _Doktor_ a shrewd look. «It was not his Heart? You are sure?»

«Surprisingly, _Herr General_, his Heart appears quite sound,» The _Doktor_ hastened to assure his interrogator. «Klink should be fine, once whatever is overstressing him is removed. A long Rest would do him a World of good…»

«All that he has been doing lately is _Resting_, _Herr Doktor_,» the general scoffed. «I will agree that he has been under some Strain recently, but much of _that_ comes from his own guilty Conscience and overactive Imagination. The only way that he will rest, I believe, is if _you_ keep him sedated. That may not be such a bad Idea, actually.

«Do what you can for him; I will be back to check on him in a Day or two. Notify my Office if there is any drastic Change in his Condition.» Burkhalter struggled to mask his concern for the other _Offizier_. Klink _had_ been under his command, after all; some concern would be warranted…

«Yes, _Herr General_, I will be sure to do so,» the _Doktor_ hastened to agree, having seen through the _General's_ act. He had some trouble picturing his patient as being important enough to rate a general's concern. Still, one could never tell about such things among Military men. They formed the unlikeliest bonds of friendship…

They kept Klink in a drugged haze for a week to allow his body time to recover. He ate and moved about as directed, never really sure where he was, or at times even _who_ he was. But at last Klink was deemed recovered sufficiently, and was allowed to regain his senses. Burkhalter was waiting beside his bed as he slowly came around.

«I hope you are not going to pass out on me again, Klink,» the beefy general said, trying to mask his concern for the smaller man.

«No Sir, I hope not also,» Klink answered in a small, scratchy voice, wondering what had happened. He'd had the oddest dreams…

«Hogan's Trial is over, Klink; he was found Guilty, of course, but you were not implicated. In fact,» Burkhalter paused to chuckle as he considered that confession, «I would say that he went out of his Way to show that you and your former Sergeant-of-the-Guard were innocent of any Wrong-doing.»

«He did?» Klink tried to sit up, completely surprised by that news. He'd been so sure that the American-born flyer would pull him down also…

«Yes. He did. And that is better by far than you deserved,» Burkhalter snapped at Klink, annoyed by the look of amazed delight on the other's face. «Hogan may have exonerated you from any direct Complicity in his Activities, but _you_ should have seen that they were up to _Some_thing.

«SO. You are _not_ to be discharged after all, Klink.»

«I'm not?» Klink looked even more delighted, until he saw the extreme displeasure on the general's face. Like a flower in drought, he wilted quickly.

«NO, you are not. You are being given a Choice, Klink.» Burkhalter paused, as if to savor the notion. «You may accept a Demotion, since your Failure to catch Hogan yourself was due to your overwhelming Conceit and inflated Ego. OR you may choose who is to be on your Firing Squad.»

«My Firing…» Klink stopped in the midst of repeating that last phrase, shocked silent momentarily. «Ahh… I'll take the Demotion, Sir,» he said very carefully, his voice shaky.

«I rather thought you would,» Burkhalter responded, his disdain evident. «We will find you a Suitable Posting; for now, you will work in Records under _Hauptmann_ Kellermann.»

«Under _Hauptmann_… what am I being demoted to, _General_ Burkhalter?» Klink couldn't keep himself from asking. He'd been an _Oberst_; he'd thought that he'd be bumped down to an _Oberstleutnant_ – a Lieutenant Colonel.

«_You_ are now an _Oberleutnant_, Klink. And you'd best be thankful that we're not sending you to the Russian Front… although that _is_ tempting. So do not press your Luck. Is that clear, _**Oberleutnant**_ Klink?»

«Yes, _Herr General_,» Klink answered unhappily. Dropped three full grades?!! «You are very clear, Sir.»

«Good. Pack your Things; you will be moved to more suitable Quarters. And Klink… **do not** foul up again. I will not be able to save your sorry Hide a second Time.» With that Burkhalter rose from his seat and left the hospital room, leaving a dumbfounded former Colonel behind.

--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – Happy New Year…

January 1st, 1943

Berlin

«Happy New Year, _Oberleutnant_ Klink.» Malicious glee was clearly to be heard in _Hauptmann _Kellermann's voice as he greeted his 'file clerk', as he referred to Klink.

Wilhelm felt a shiver of dread go down his spine, for Kellermann had taken sadistic delight in making his life a misery for the past month and a half. It could not be good news for him, if the _Hauptmann_ was this pleased. But Klink kept his thoughts to himself as his supervisor blithely continued speaking.

«They have found just the Posting for you at last, Klink. You are to be the Administrator for a small POW camp in Poland. _Not_, you will note, the _Kommandant_; just the Paper-pusher. You will have this Weekend to pack your Goods; you leave on Monday, for _Stalag_ 384.

«And may _Gott_ have Mercy on you, for your new _Kommandant_ will not.» He walked back to his office, laughing as if at some uproariously funny joke. Heavy hearted, Klink returned to his work. Monday would come all too soon; _then_ he would see.

Monday morning found Klink shivering inside the station waiting-room. A freezing rain pounded down on the platform outside, drenching anyone unfortunate enough to be out in the pre-dawn darkness. He had gotten thoroughly soaked moving his baggage from the small covered truck to the station buildings, but he knew enough, now, to be grateful for even the use of that truck. Kellermann might have made him walk to the station, or pay for his own transport. That would have put the final touch of humiliation on this already awful move. He shifted closer to the inadequate iron stove, dreading the long, damp train ride that lay ahead of him now.

At last his train eased into the station, a long troop-transport, bound for Warsaw. To his surprise, the Station-master sent out several POWs – Bondsmen, Klink quickly corrected himself – to act as porters for him. _Amerikaneren_, they joked about the foul weather as they carried his bags to the nearest car. _He_ might not have much anymore, but these men had even less, he thought as he fished out his wallet and offered the men several _Deutschmarks_ as a tip.

"Gee, thanks, _Herr Oberleutnant_… uh, _Danke_," one of the men said in surprise as they accepted the money. Few cared to notice them; no one had given them a tip until now.

"You are welcome; thank _you_ for the service," Klink replied, surprising them even further. After that, though, he turned and settled himself in his seat, clearly unwilling to converse further. He paid the men no more notice as they headed back to the station.

He was hungry, not having had a chance to eat breakfast due to the early hour he'd had to report to the station. Grimacing in distaste, Klink fished out a ration bar, knowing that it would be but the first of many on this trip. Poor-tasting, it would at least shut his stomach up, he thought, longing for _Stalag_ 13 and LeBeau's good cooking. He wondered how his former prisoners had fared, once Grüber had been removed. _That_ had been quite a scandal, although PAPA BEAR's trial had greatly overshadowed it. He shuddered, thankful that _he_ hadn't been shot out of hand the way that _Major_ Grüber had been. Granted, he hadn't abused his charges the way the _Major_ had…

Somewhere around Poznan the rain turned into snow, adding to the banks already mounded along the right-of-way. Watching it fall, Klink wondered how anyone could move in this, let alone supply a POW camp. His mind painted a horrific picture of skeletally thin, starving prisoners, freezing to death in the snow… Klink got no sleep during the rest of the trip into Warsaw.

At a side platform in Warsaw, his baggage was efficiently unloaded by several _Heer_ _Soldaten_, who stacked it in shelter to wait for the local supply train to come in. Bored, restless, and plagued by his overactive imagination, Klink's eye was soon caught by two rail cars which waited on a nearby siding under heavy guard. He was curious, yes, but not suicidal: already the men on guard had noticed his interest and glared at him, their weapons at the ready. Klink quickly retreated into the small station annex to look for someone to answer his questions.

The only one in sight was an old man behind a ticket window. With a shrug, Klink approached him, an ingratiating smile firmly in place on his face.

«Excuse me, _mein Herr_, but can you tell me anything about the two Cars on the East-bound Siding?» Klink asked, wondering if he'd get any response at all.

«You mean the Ones with all the Guards, _Herr Oberleutnant_?» the man asked back, looking up with interest at having someone to talk to at last.

«Those would be the Cars I mean,» Klink nodded vigorously.

«I've heard that the Boxcar contains Supplies,» the old man said, trying to look important. He spoiled the effect when he glanced around hurriedly to make sure they wouldn't be overheard before continuing, «The other Car carries POWs bound for a Camp Southeast of here. I heard a Rumor that they are Women, _Herr Oberleutnant_, taken from Camps in Italy.»

Klink managed to keep from expressing his shock and incredulity at that information, maintaining instead his usual look of vapid interest. His mind chewed on that news, though. The war was over; _why_ would the Army be transporting _any_ prisoners way out here, never mind women. Yet… There had been smoke rising from the stovepipe on the first car, indicating that it was heated. That inferred passengers of some sort aboard, with at least basic care being provided for their comfort. He carefully leashed most of his curiosity, focusing instead on the vague location given for their destination.

«They are being taken… What Camp did you say, _mein Herr_?»

The old man hesitated, then shrugged; he'd already said more than was healthy. «The Paperwork said they go Southeast of here, to a small Village Station, then by Truck to some new Camp… a _Stalag_ 384. We send Supplies there all the Time, _Herr Oberleutnant_. The Camp sends Trucks to the Station, to meet the Trains. Two Boxcar-loads of Food and Supplies are sent every Week.»

Klink did some quick calculations. There would be between one and two thousand men there, plus the guards – a small camp indeed, about the size of his old _Stalag_ 13, or a bit larger. For the first time Klink began to feel slightly optimistic about this new assignment. But… women? Mentally shaking his head, he thanked the old ticket-clerk and went to sit near the room's stove, hoping to dry out the rest of the way.

It had been a very long day, and the hour grew late. Klink dozed off, waking at movement near him. It was a young woman, who smiled uncertainly at him as she offered him some hot _Kaffe. _Gratefully he accepted the cup, then glanced over at the wall clock. It was nearly eight, he saw in surprise, and glanced out to check the cloud-filled morning sky. He felt ravenous, but the local train would be in soon; there would be no time to search out a café now. He would just have to make do with ration bars a little longer…

Klink looked out towards the siding with the two waiting cars in time to see a train backing up to them, attaching them to the rear. No doubt they intended to drop those off at a similar siding to unload them…

Twenty minutes later, Klink sat within a private compartment, heading southeast towards his new posting at _Stalag _384.

--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x--


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – Beware of the Dogs

Tuesday, January 5th, 1943

It was late afternoon when the train pulled into the small country station. Klink started to gather his things together, but paused when he realized that they hadn't stopped at the platform itself, but had backed into the nearby siding. They came to a stop, briefly, then pulled forward again, only to back once more. This time when they came to a stop Klink was ready, his greatcoat buttoned against the raw wind that had scoured the platform clear of the wet snow.

It quickly became apparent that no one was expecting him, for he had only the conductor's help to off-load his baggage. The young man, a one-armed veteran, did what he could, but Klink still had to do most of the work himself. Left standing beside the small pile of bags on top of his heavy footlocker, he watched the train pull out of the station at last.

Now Klink had a clear view of the activity at the small siding. Six trucks were grouped there, mostly around the boxcar, and heavily-clad _Soldaten_ worked with great industry to transfer the cargo to them from the now-open rail car. He watched with surprise as bed-frames and mattresses, clothes-presses and small tables and chairs were carefully packed into the first five trucks. There was as yet no sign of the prisoners themselves, but that only made sense. They would no doubt be ill-equipped to face this northern winter weather, if they had just recently come from hot Italy; best to let them stay in the warm passenger car as long as possible.

Carefully picking his way across the icy tracks, Klink headed over to the work party to see about having his own baggage picked up. An alert guard stopped him before he could get within fifty feet of the passenger car.

«I need to speak with whoever is in Charge of this Work Detail,» Klink demanded in his best authoritative voice.

«Sir, you will approach no closer. We will get our _Feldwebel_ for you,» the _Soldat_ declared, his Schmeißer's muzzle never wavering from Klink's direction. A second _Soldat_ moved from behind Klink, causing the older man to jump slightly; Klink hadn't even realized that the other man had been there. But the wait was short; a few moments later a hard-looking _Feldwebel _came over to see what he wanted.

«I am _Feldwebel_ Schmidt; how may I be of Assistance to you, _Herr Oberleutnant_?» he asked, his voice giving the definite impression that he was not to be trifled with.

«I am _Oberleutnant _Klink; I was given to understand that you and your Men are from _Stalag_ 384. I have Orders to report there for Duty; I require Transport to the Camp for myself and my Baggage,» Klink responded, wondering what he would do if these _Soldaten_ left him there anyway.

To Klink's relief, the _Feldwebel_ nodded knowingly. «Ah, _ja, Herr Oberleutnant_. We were told to expect Someone. I will send some of my Men over to pick up your Baggage shortly – that is it, on the Platform? _Gut_. You should wait in the Station Building, _Herr Oberleutnant_, where it is warmer. We will pick you up there, once we are loaded and ready to leave for Camp. Unfortunately, it will be Dark long before we get back; perhaps you can find Something hot to eat and drink in the Village. We will not leave without you, Sir.»

«Very well, then, _Feldwebel_, I will wait in the Station,» Klink agreed with the suggestion, although it had sounded very much like an order instead. He couldn't quite keep from looking around himself in worry, though. «Will we be able to get through? I mean, the Roads could be very icy, or filled with Drifts…» he said, finally giving voice to his concern.

«We will have no Trouble, _Herr Oberleutnant_,» _Feldwebel_ Schmidt answered with great pride. «We are used to Conditions much worse that this: we have fought in Russia, in the Winter War. Our Trucks are Half-tracks; they can get through nearly anything, almost as well as _unsere Panzers_ do. We will get through, never fear.» He paused, then grinned a strange little grin. «The only things you will have to worry about once we are there, are _unser Major_ and his _Hünde_. Be warned: the Dogs bite when _Major_ Dekker is threatened by anything. _They_ are fearless, and loyal.»

«I _like_ Dogs,» Klink muttered, to himself he thought, as he turned away to go back to the station's waiting room. He failed to see the widened grin on Schmidt's face when his comment was overheard.

_Perhaps you like Dogs, _Oberleutnant,_ but _die Hünde_ won't like __**you,**_ the _Feldwebel_ thought to himself with a soft chuckle.

The drive back to camp was a nightmare for Klink, along icy, rutted roads in near-total darkness. The blackout-painted headlamps on the lead truck did little to dispel the inky blackness of the night. Klink was glad that he'd taken the _Feldwebel's_ advice to find something to eat while he waited, for it was now long past time for any mess hall to be open for supper. Riding in that lead truck, clutching his briefcase with his orders like a security blanket, the _Oberleutnant_ could only shiver as the vehicle lurched along, making barely seen turnoffs at the last moment. He wished that he'd been assigned to ride in one of the other trucks, but this, apparently, was the best one. It also carried the new prisoners, although Klink had yet to actually see any of them. From the softly voiced exclamations heard at each bad jolt, he knew that the rumors had been true: these POWs were women.

Soon he would see which other 'rumors' were true also; he would see if his new Commanding Officer was as bad as people seemed to think. And he would see if this would be a survivable posting. He hoped so… oh, how he hoped so…

But the lights of a POW camp were glowing up ahead now; they would soon be there, and then he would see. He watched as a small party of men exited what looked like an old farm house, the man in the lead clearly in charge. Klink tried to gather his shaky courage together as the truck slid somewhat, before coming to a stop near the waiting group. Shaking, he climbed out to meet his fate, still clutching the briefcase with one white-knuckled hand.

«_Oberleutnant_ Wilhelm Klink reporting, Sir,» he announced briefly as he came to attention and saluted, trying to meet his future bravely… or as bravely as he could ever face anything, these days. But the senior _Offizier_ present looked him over and dismissed him, like everyone else seemed to do lately: just another unimportant, worn-out old soldier. He went quietly with the man told off as his escort, knowing already what to expect from the men here.

It was funny how the more things changed for him, the more they seemed to remain the same, he thought with a sigh. So he would 'push his papers' here, and quietly serve out what was, in effect, a sentence for incompetence. With a bowed head and a heavy heart, Klink resigned himself to his fate, only grateful that it had been no worse.

_**Ende**_


End file.
